


Shooting Practice

by CatrionaMac



Series: Cover Me Up [2]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Ellie/Joel if you squint real hard, F/M, Minific, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrionaMac/pseuds/CatrionaMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellie tries out a new gun, and a lot gets said between Ellie and Joel without many words at all.</p>
<p>"Shooting Practice" is the first related one-shot for Cover Me Up, and it talks a little bit about that Alaskan bear pistol Ellie mentions in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1122721/chapters/2263258">Summer (Part 1)</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting Practice

“Ellie.” Joel held out his hand to her, an unspoken imperative in his gesture.

“Joel.” She mimicked his tone exactly.

Joel sighed with exasperation. “Just give me the gun, already.”

“Oh, fine.” She glared at him through one good eye and one that was already swelling shut, but smacked the heavy pistol into the palm of his outstretched hand.

Joel cracked open the revolver’s cylinder and shook out the remaining two bullets, which were almost the size of his thumb, and slipped them into the front pocket of his flannel shirt. He looked down at the heavy silver pistol in his hand. It was a Ruger Super Redhawk Alaskan, a snub-nosed .454 that they used to sell to hunters as a last defense against a charging bear. “Where the hell did you get this thing, anyway? This is way too much gun for you.”

Joel knew the instant the words were out of his mouth that he’d said exactly the wrong thing, despite the fact he’d just seen her give herself what looked to be a pretty good shiner from the kickback when she’d tried to shoot it. Her stubborn scowl just sealed the deal. “It’s mine. I found it on a dead bandit last week. I can handle it.”

Joel raised his eyebrows. “Clearly.”

“Don’t be a dick, Joel. Just...just give it back, okay? I’ll be ready for it this time.” She held her hand out for her pistol.

“Lemme see to your eye first, at least.” He knelt and dug in his pack for the flask of alcohol he always carried with him and a clean rag, but she interrupted him.

“No!”

The vehemence in her voice shocked him. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, keeping his face carefully blank.

She had her arms crossed over her breasts, and she was gripping her elbows with white-knuckled fingers. The unhappiness on her face transfixed Joel and made his chest ache. He would give anything to take that look off her face. They stared at each other for what felt like a year until Ellie finally said, “You can’t...you can’t keep trying to save me. Remember...” she smiled weakly, “not your daughter?”

_The hell I can’t,_ Joel wanted to say. He wanted to say, _You’re not my daughter, you’re something else, something more that I can’t even put words to._ He wanted to say, _You’re the only reason I get up every morning. You’re what I fight for now._

Instead, he said, “You’re right. You’re eighteen years old, you can make your own mistakes.” Against his better judgement, Joel handed the pistol back over, and then pressed the bullets into her hand. He watched with his arms folded over his chest as she loaded and checked the pistol, and he didn’t say a word when she held the thing out at arm’s length, targeted a tree branch, and squeezed the trigger.

Her pistol hand flew upward and the thing smacked right into her injured eye again.

“Motherfucker!” she yelled. She glared a challenge toward Joel, daring him to comment.

In a mild voice, he said, “Try bracing it with two hands. That’ll help you control the kick.”

Her next shot went wild, but she didn’t hit herself in the eye again.

She looked at him as she stowed the pistol in her pack and finally said, “Thanks.”

Wordlessly, Joel held out an alcohol-soaked rag to her. She took it and pressed it against her swollen eye, wiping up the tiny trickle of blood on her eyebrow. She looked down at the ground and said, “Thanks,” again.

“It’s okay,” he said. It was the closest he could get to telling her that he understood.

 


End file.
